Just Checking
by applecherry
Summary: When Yurio finds himself in bed in the middle of the night, confused whether he's dreaming or the impossible just happened, he takes action with the excuse of verifying what's real and what's not, even at the expense of passing out from embarrassment (or pleasure).


Cover art is not mine.

Older OtaYuri; probably three to five years after the last episode, with Otabek still bigger than Yuri.

 **Just Checking  
** When Yurio finds himself in bed in the middle of the night, confused whether he's dreaming or the impossible just happened, he takes action with the excuse of verifying what's real and what's not, even at the expense of passing out from embarrassment (or pleasure).

It was a particularly cold night; the unforgiving winter wrecking the streets of Moscow. Yuri gradually rose to consciousness at the sight of a dark room. He lay on his side, expecting the usual midnight chill that would prompt him to hog the blankets closer. But it never came.

For the past few nights of the winter onslaught, Yuri always woke up with a chill and would find his leopard-print comforter and fleece blanket shoved below his waist, likely due to the salchows and lutzes he did in his sleep.

This night was different, however. The blankets were snugly tucked under his chin. He felt warm. He felt especially warm at his back and his waist below.

So Yuri tried to make his brain work and surveyed his surroundings. Yes, he was in his room, and a glance at his window confirmed that the outside was still a world of snow and ice. Eventually, his waking brain also digested the fact that there was something warm wrapped around his waist and between his feet. It took a few more seconds before it clicked that those some _things_ are actually some _one_ 's arm and a leg, and that the limbs belonged to that _someone_ behind him.

No, Yuri Plisetsky is not afraid at the idea of an intruder, but he will be extremely furious at whoever dared to invade his space.

A slight turn of his head and all the burning anger and flaming irritation dissipated. The Russian skater is back to where he was a few moments ago: disoriented and confused.

His sea green eyes took in the sight of the short black strands of hair splayed on the pillow, of the defined jaw framing the intruder's face, of the coffee-toned skin that looked so touchable in the dim light. He felt the gentle blow of slightly heated air on his face in every exhale.

Yuri then becomes aware of one Otabek Altin spooning him as he slept.

The blond promptly blanks out. He tries to remember his conversations with the Kazakh, if there were any mentions of a trip of any kind or arrangements to meet. He has not seen Otabek for six months, save their daily video calls. It was the only thing that tides away his longing and frustration for the other boy. Yuri knows Otabek is undergoing some kind of training back in Almaty. He was sure of it; it was the reason why their calls were shorter recently. It was also the reason why Yuri was harder to work with in the last week, as sworn by Mila and Yakov. There is absolutely no reason for Otabek to be in Moscow right now.

Yuri then concludes: he must be dreaming.

Gently, he turns around to fully face the sleeping figure. Otabek reacts, seemingly sensitive to his every move. Instead of waking up, Otabek pulls Yuri closer. The blond freezes, eyes wide; he realizes how easy it was to nuzzle the other boy, with his nose and the Kazakh's chin only inches apart, and his face burns at the proximity. Even so, he takes advantage of the situation. He decides to verify that he is dreaming, and flushes even more at the thought of what he's about to do.

Yuri looks up, raises a finger to the sleeping man's face, and feels the thick line of hair forming the brows. His thumb smooths the unblemished skin over the cheekbones and traces down over the jaw to the chin. He indulges himself with running his hand through the thick unruly hair, so soft, that he want to bury his face in, and rolls the visible earlobe between his thumb and forefinger, inciting thoughts of what it would be like with piercings and how it would taste like if he took a small bite. Moving away before he gets more ideas, he then slides a finger down the slope of the nose and lands the slightly opened lips. Lighter than a feather, he traces the lips once, twice, and ran a thumb over the lower lip.

Yuri's heart is so frenzied, it's about to jump out of his chest.

So the intruder has Otabek's face. Either Otabek kept a secret from him or his subconscious remembers Otabek down to the smallest detail.

Yuri feels hotter than he was before all this started, and it was supposed to be a very bad winter. Feeling bolder than he ever was, he continues his "verification". ('This is all a dream, and even if it wasn't, he's asleep!' Yuri reasons with himself.)

From Otabek's visible shoulder, Yuri slips his hand down beneath the covers and feels the muscles lining Otabek's upper arms, sliding further to the hand hanging over his waist. Yuri pauses and shuts his eye, his face hot and red to the ears, as if he's having an internal battle with himself on the appropriateness of what he's doing or he's preparing his heart for what he's about to do, or both.

The exploring hand that was paused on the arm at his waist now continues its journey back to the defined biceps, and slowly trails down, down, descending to the hips, pauses, then ascends towards the torso, slipping under the shirt.

Dream or not, Yuri does not—cannot—look at Otabek's face. His heart won't be able to handle it. He feels like he's about to pass out from embarrassment (or pleasure).

His palm absorbs the heat from the skin contact, committing to memory every contour of the Kazakh's abs as Yuri smooths over every inch of skin he can find. He presses his body closer, his nose nuzzling the crook of the Kazakh's neck and breathing in his scent, so he could reach the spine at the back of Otabek's neck, and rides his fingers agonizingly slow over the ridges down to the dip at the lower back. At this point, Yuri is so intoxicated, his senses oversaturated with Otabek, he lets out a heady sigh and inches backwards. He hasn't even done something Viktor would in his position (he knows how worse it could get), and he's already feeling giddy and drunk. Damn, what the hell was Otabek doing to him? He knows he probably wouldn't get another chance like this anytime soon (Yuri wouldn't dare when they are both wide awake and aware of reality), so he braces himself to continue. He drags his hand from the Kazakh's lower back up to the front, and plays his fingers over the waves from the raised row of ribs and rests his exploring hand atop the steady beating heart.

Definitely his Beka.

If he wasn't so preoccupied with the sensations coming in from his exploration, Yuri would have noticed Otabek's breath becoming shallow and heart beating faster. But no, the blond's nerve endings are still tingling from the contact. Before he even gets the idea of exploring the sleeping boy's chest any further (or venturing his hand any lower) Yuri was tugged closer; so close that his palm over Otabek's heart is stuck, sandwiched between his and Otabek's body. The leg between his feet bowed and raised so that Otabek's thigh is now snug against the apex of his legs. But it wasn't until he registered the hand branding the skin on his back and the breath misting his ears that his eyes shook in panic.

"You should've went back to sleep, Yuratchka."

Yuri Plisetsky is absolutely not getting any more sleep tonight.

At least he has verified that he wasn't dreaming.

 **FIN  
** Review if you would. Constructive criticisms appreciated. Reasonable flames accepted.

Yurio will always be innocent in my fics, unless I get an inspiration otherwise. There will be no sequel for this, but I might write a new story. Lots of plot bunnies jumping around, no time to write.

 **Posted** : 011617 . 1945h  
 **Edited** : 012417 . 1150h

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 _ **Just Checking © applecherry™ January 2017**_


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